


Promise

by Lokaal



Series: Trust [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaal/pseuds/Lokaal
Summary: Just before arriving in Loc Muinne, Geralt and Iorveth spend time alone in a cave with a few things they need to discuss.





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! It's a good 2,000 words longer than expected, and I got sick half way through writing it, so it took much longer than I thought it would - but it's finally done! Enjoy!

The road to Loc Muinne was a treacherous one, made more so by the need to stay off the roads and the incessant rain. Water found its way into every possible section of Geralt’s clothing, under armor and chilling him to the bone. This was by no means the first time Geralt was forced to travel in such weather, and he doubted with bitter amusement that it would be the last. The rain made any paths in the rocky, muddy mountains slippery and hazardous, doubly so when he and Iorveth were forced to climb sections of cliffs. 

Not once did the scoia’tael leader complain, weathering their hardships with a steadfast determination Geralt had not seen in anyone else. Iorveth, despite his rough and troubled life as a freedom fighter, did not have the enhancements of a witcher. Yet Iorveth weathered what nature threw at them with a clenched jaw and hunched shoulders, grudgingly letting Geralt lead. 

The tail end of their journey was punishing, but they had Loc Muinne in their sights when the rainclouds morphed into something more dangerous. The clouds had been dark grey and looming for days as rain battered them, but now the sky was transforming into a churning tempest of black clouds and cracking thunder. Geralt kept half an eye out for lightning as he picked his way down the unstable mountainous path, knowing they shouldn’t be outside right now. 

“We have to get out of the storm,” Geralt raised his voice to reach Iorveth’s ears over the constant din of the rain. He stopped walking when he realized Iorveth hadn’t quite heard him, and repeated what he said into the ear of the elf as Iorveth leaned toward him. Then he continued, “We have to find some sort of cave, the sooner the better.” 

“Agreed,” Iorveth shouted back, rivulets of water running down his face and the feather protruding from his bandana drooping. 

Geralt took a moment to scan the area. He was constantly alert yet there was a difference between watching for movement which could indicate a person or monster and actively looking for something easy to miss in such weather. The rain formed a dull, obscuring blanket around all within the area, and anyone with normal sight wouldn’t be able to see much more than twenty meters in front of them. Geralt fared much better, and studied the rocky slopes above them. “I don’t see anything at the moment. Let’s go for another few minutes and then make do with what we find.” 

Iorveth nodded in acceptance and they pressed forward. 

Geralt’s guess of the time would put it at about early afternoon, but they weren’t able to stop and rest the previous night. It was a mixture of too much rain and Geralt’s medallion giving a low vibration. They had pressed forward for quite some time, and the vibration never ceased. It was not an urgent warning, and Geralt had not seen or smelt any indication that the monster was close, but the consistency meant they were most likely being followed. Only a couple of hours before dawn did the beast give up, but Geralt insisted they needed to press on, in case whatever it was decided to continue. Once again, Iorveth never complained. He was weary, soaked and deeply chilled, but never once did his determination wane. Considering everything happening with Saskia and Philippa Eilhart, Geralt was far from surprised. It was going to take much more than a storm, no matter how violent, to stop Iorveth. 

When Geralt stopped again, this time something caught his attention. A cave, one that appeared to be a good five minute trek up the mountainside. The further from the path the better, in Geralt’s opinion. Ideal for not being seen. He gestured to Iorveth and began up the incline, picking his way carefully through the boulders and slick ground. Iorveth followed a few steps behind, watching where Geralt was stepping and mimicking. 

It took closer to ten minutes before they reached the cave, due to the dangerous footing. The opening of the cave was only a few feet wide, and opened out into a cavern about seven meters wide. While the cave was no more than thirty meters deep, only the first twenty were high enough to stand in before it became a tunnel which led only to rock. Iorveth clearly couldn’t see inside because of the lack of light, putting his shoulder to the cave’s mouth and peering in. 

“It’s empty,” Geralt assured him before stepping inside. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Iorveth muttered, following cautiously. He stood close to the entrance, out of the rain but waiting for Geralt to make a surveillance of the cave. 

The few tracks left in the layer of dust coating the uneven rocky floor were old. They seemed to be of some sort of giant insectoid, which means it could have been any number of beasts. It was long gone, Geralt was certain. The bones he found toward the back were even older, and he deemed it safe for now. He would take measures to be sure of it, but for now he wanted to rid himself of as many of his dripping clothes as he could. 

Shedding his armor and everything he carried, Geralt then located the wood he saved from a few nights ago. There wasn’t much left, and what he did have was wrapped in oiled leather to keep the rain out. Even then, parts of the wood was still damp. Surface damp wouldn’t matter, especially with how he planned to light it. When half the remaining wood was ready, positioned toward the back of the cave to avoid the rain dampening the rain around the entrance, Geralt ignited it with a controlled flash of Igni. He heard Iorveth swear vehemently in Elder Speech, then approached now that he could see. 

“You could have given me some semblance of a warning,” Iorveth sneered, eying the blazing fire cautiously. He always seemed cautious around magic, most likely because it was something created from seemingly nothing. Magic was abstract, not something you could usually shoot at arrow at. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Geralt shrugged it off, beginning to set their camp up. Iorveth removed all he had slung over his shoulders to help. They traveled light since leaving Vergen, both being able to weather hardship and uncomfortable conditions. The need to be swift was beginning to ware and in truth, despite the inconvenience, Geralt was relieved to stop for a decent amount of time. They were nearly at Loc Muinne, and it would do them good to hurt to rest in a relatively safe place before entering the city. It would also give them a chance to talk, something they had been avoiding since setting out. Their journey hadn’t been an awkward one, there was just a silent agreement that they needed to focus on the issues at hand. 

Once the bedrolls were set out and the food rations ready, Geralt took what traps he had and began setting them along the mouth of the cave. The fire’s light didn’t reach here well and Geralt settled them enough into the ground that they were nearly invisible until you scrutinized the ground. A monster certainly wouldn’t do that, and a person most likely wouldn’t think to as they were trying to get out of the rain. 

With a fresh layer of rain on him, Geralt returned to the fireside. Iorveth was naked to the waist, sitting with one of the thin blankets over his shoulders. His clothes and armor were set out to dry, including his bandana. Geralt began to do the same, knowing their clothing wouldn’t dry completely but anything was better than how drenched they were currently. As he stripped, he briefly caught Iorveth watching him. When Geralt looked back to him few moment later, Iorveth’s gaze was fixed on the flames of their campfire and his jaw was set tight. 

Once Geralt spread his own clothing out on the ground, he settled next to Iorveth. Their bedding was always set out next to the others, because while they did nothing intimate since leaving Vergen, sleeping back to back kept the both of them warm. That was when they did both sleep, though, as most of the time one of them needed to keep watch. 

Unwrapping their rations, kept dry by layers of oiled leather, Geralt examined what they had. Ample for three more days, which was more than enough to let them indulge somewhat tonight since they were nearly in Loc Muinne. They had only food to be eaten cold and without cooking, as traveling light meant bringing no pots or kettles of any kind. Their rations consisted of hardtack, stale rye bread, treated sausages, salty cheese and dried fruits. Better than most traveling rations, thanks to the dwarven cooks of the Cauldron. Geralt gave Iorveth’s portion to him, noting Iorveth’s fingers were close to purple and his skin was covered in chilled bumps. Geralt took his own before food securing the remainder, making sure it was as water resistant as he could get it. 

“Do we have a plan once we’re inside Loc Muinne?” Iorveth asked between mouthfuls. “Or is this one of those plan-as-we-go situation?” 

“We know Saskia and Philippa are somewhere within the city, and we know there are multiple political parties. Our plan’s to tread lightly and undo whatever Philippa did.” 

“That witch,” Iorveth spat. “How did she blindside the both of us?”

Geralt had wondered the same since they left Vergen. “Desperation. We needed aid in curing Saskia, and Philippa’s goals seemed to align with ours.” 

“Not all of them, apparently.” 

“Apparently.” 

Iorveth was studying Geralt, head turned fully to watch with his good eye. “What of after Loc Muinne?” 

Geralt held his gaze, trying to judge exactly what was going on inside Iorveth’s head. The elf was a hard man to read at the best of times, let alone when he was guarded as he was now. Even half naked and shivering with cold, Iorveth acted as though he was impenetrable. While in Vergen, in the few nights they were able to spend together, Geralt begun to believe he got somewhere with him. Once Saskia was cured, it was as though Iorveth opened to him. Perhaps it didn’t count as opening up compared to most people, but Geralt felt as though he was progressively gaining Iorveth’s trust. 

He distinctly recalled before Iorveth left to find his scoia’tael, the ones who became immensely helpful during the battle at Vergen, how Iorveth acted: 

_The hallway was empty, the faint illumination from the lanterns at either end providing just enough light. Iorveth had tapped Geralt’s wrist and gestured for him to follow. Curious, Geralt did just that, tailing after Iorveth all of the way here. Geralt assumed this had to do with Prince Stennis, who still lay unmoving in a puddle of blood with his life beaten out of him. Whether Stennis was guilty of poisoning Saskia or not, Geralt still obtained the vial of royal blood Philippa required._

_Alone in the hallway, Iorveth stood in front of Geralt, watching him meaningfully. Geralt said nothing, opting to wait. Finally Iorveth lunged forward, surprising Geralt with a fierce kiss. While they were indeed alone, all of Geralt’s senses confirmed that, they were still in a public place. It wasn’t like the ship, full of Iorveth’s scoia’tael, or the Cauldron, shut away behind a bolted door. They were among many who were strangers, in a place that wasn’t theirs. Anyone could see them. Geralt didn’t wish to think of what that would mean, but he kissed Iorveth back regardless._

_Pulling away, breathless, Iorveth grabbed both sides of Geralt’s head harshly. Geralt weathered it, curious and confused in equal measure. “I have to go,” Iorveth mumbled huskily, “There’s no way we can fight Henselt’s army with this rabble.”_

_Geralt gathered his wits about him, falling very serious. “You’re leaving?”_

_A wicked grin flashed across Iorveth’s face. “I am coming back, you can be certain of it. We scoia’tael are more numerous than you believe, I’m going south through the mountains to gather them.”_

_“Are you certain,” Geralt asked slowly, “You’re coming back?”_

_Iorveth kissed him again, less aggressively and more brief. When they parted their foreheads joined instead and Iorveth released a short, sharp laugh. “I promise, Gwynbleidd. Don’t lose hope.”_

_Whether Iorveth talked about hope in regards to Vergen’s situation or their own personal one, Geralt couldn’t be sure._

Sitting in the cave not far out of Loc Muinne, Iorveth stared at Geralt with the same intensity but a very different tone. In that hallway, Iorveth was bursting energy. Here, he was stern and measured, taking in every single movement Geralt made. Perhaps he felt certain about where they stood then, he knew what to expect from Geralt. Now? Now their time together had a foreseeable end, and that end was in a city not so far from where they currently sat. Soon their goals became different, and fate was taking them down different paths. Iorveth could evidently see that, and Geralt could see Iorveth asking if it was necessary. 

“After Loc Muinne,” Geralt echoed, pulling himself back to the now. He elected for honestly, he owed the elf that. “I don’t know, Iorveth. I don’t know what’s going to happen once we’re in the city, let alone after.” 

That didn’t satisfy him. Iorveth made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, fixing his gaze to the remaining food in his hands instead. They ate the rest of their cold, hard meal in silence, listening to the contrasting crackle of the fire and patter of rain outside. 

“I should sleep for a while now, and take first watch when the night comes,” Iorveth said once he was finished eating, stretching his back out. 

“Sleep if you’d like, but there’s little point taking watch. Humans aren’t going to get through the downpour or the traps, and whatever monsters are looking for shelter will run into the traps and my medallion will tell me if or when they’re near.” 

Iorveth nodded in acknowledgement. He waited a few more minutes before settling down into his bedroll. Geralt stayed sitting, staring into the fire and occasionally prodding it with a longer piece. He let it die down slightly, not wanting to burn through their wood too quickly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Iorveth shivering despite the fire, and eventually looked over to him knowingly. The elf was still awake, swathed in blankets and not facing Geralt but undoubtedly conscious. “Iorveth,” Geralt said flatly. “You’re going to freeze to death.” 

Rising up, Iorveth untangled himself slightly and ran a hand through his disheveled, half-damp hair. “I can think of ways to warm me up,” he suggested, lacking any sort of coy play. 

“Can you really?” Geralt couldn’t help the sneer. “I’m surprised. You’ve been avoiding doing anything of the sort since we left. Yet, when we were in Vergen, you couldn’t keep away.” 

Iorveth looked as though he wanted to ignore what was being said and lay back down. Geralt wasn’t going to let him go that easily without listening to what needed to be said. 

“Tell me straight, what’s going on inside that head of yours? I don’t believe for a moment that this is completely about Saskia. We got that poison out of her system, we’ll get Philippa out as well. You’ve always been honest with me, Iorveth. Don’t stop now.” 

There was a long, long pause. Moving slowly, like an unsure cat, Iorveth shifted closer to Geralt. They sat side by side, one side of their legs touching. For a time, they just sat and breathed and listened, to each other and to the rain outside. 

“That first time,” Iorveth finally spoke, voice hoarse. “Did you think it would go this far?” 

Geralt thought for a time. He had wanted Iorveth, he wanted to touch and taste and see if Iorveth would reciprocate or simply punch him. He hadn’t thought beyond then, other than gaining more of Iorveth’s trust. “How far has it gone?” Geralt threw a question back at him. 

Iorveth snorted, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look at us, avoiding speaking truth.” They both knew the answers, but neither wanted to speak completely plainly. Speaking things aloud tended to make them more real, like magic. Once the words were spoken, something formed where there was previously nothing. 

“I hold nothing against you,” Geralt told him sincerely. He looked to Iorveth, whose blind side faced Geralt. There couldn’t have been a better metaphor for the sort of vulnerable Iorveth was right now. Reaching over to him, slowly enough to give him ample warning, Geralt first tucked Iorveth’s hair behind his ear then imbedded his fingers in the strands, moving his hand along to the back of Iorveth’s head. He pulled Iorveth closer, and leaned forward to kiss beneath the hole where an eye once was. Geralt heard and felt Iorveth exhale and lean into it, running on of his hands up Geralt’s far arm to his shoulder then neck. Geralt moved from Iorveth’s face to his hair, able to smell the distinct woody spice that was Iorveth’s scent, mixed with sweat, leather and smoke from the fire. 

He was jerked out of the moment by two hands slamming into his chest. Geralt’s own hand left Iorveth’s head and Iorveth pushed himself away, a flare of rage in his eyes. Anger wasn’t the only thing there; lust was definitely present, and something else. Something Geralt couldn’t name. 

“You don’t hold anything against me,” Iorveth spat the words. “How about what I hold against you?” 

Geralt composed himself immediately. “That falls under the question is asked before. Tell me what’s happening in that head of yours.” 

For a brief moment, Iorveth looked as though he wanted to flee. Instead he did the exact opposite, launching toward Geralt and kissing him feverishly. Geralt kept his wits about him, giving into Iorveth but alert of every movement both made. Barely breaking the kiss, Iorveth maneuvered himself to be sitting in Geralt’s lap, straddling him. Geralt ran his hands up Iorveth’s bare torso, feeling the cold skin beneath his palms. He made a half-hearted attempt to slow Iorveth down but the elf was having none of it. Instead Iorveth rolled his hips forward against Geralt’s, causing Geralt’s automatic reaction of moving his hands down to Iorveth’s thighs and behind. Iorveth made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and trailed kisses along Geralt’s jaw, eventually leading down to his throat. Geralt took the opportunity to remove his hands entirely from Iorveth and speak. 

“If you want this, fine by me,” Geralt’s voice got Iorveth’s attention and the elf paused, lips lingering on the skin of Geralt’s throat. “But you haven’t given me any answers.” 

“Gwynbleidd,” Iorveth leisurely moved back up to Geralt’s lips, hovering just above as he spoke breathlessly. “Geralt. I want you, I want you to fuck me until I can’t think about what’s going to happen after this is all over.” 

Taking Iorveth’s jaw in hand, Geralt pushed him back enough to get a better look at him. That unnamable something was back in Iorveth’s eye, mixing with the desire gleaming dark and dangerous there. Damned if Iorveth wasn’t the hardest man to read. “Are you sure?” Geralt wanted him, but something was amiss. 

Iorveth let out a bitter laugh, yet didn’t shake off Geralt’s hold on his jaw. “Right at this moment, it’s the only thing I’m sure of.” 

Geralt was the one who kissed him this time, much to Iorveth’s amusement. It was an easy rhythm to fall into; they knew each other’s bodies by now, knew the pace the other liked. Iorveth wanted roughness and heat, an intensity to match his own. Geralt obliged, digging his thumbs into Iorveth’s hips and biting Iorveth’s bottom lip. Iorveth matched his actions, pressing against and grinding his hips on Geralt’s and dragging his nails down Geralt’s chest. Neither of them cared they were in a dimly lit cave. Both of them were so lost in each other they forgot they weren’t far from Loc Muinne, and forgot their quest. Just for now, tomorrow didn’t matter. 

Using soft pushes and suggestive nudges, Geralt coaxed Iorveth from his lap and onto the messy bedding. Iorveth was surprisingly malleable, letting Geralt move him onto his back without complaint. Above him, Geralt began with indulging in more hungry kisses. There was something undeniably addictive about kissing Iorveth. Whether it was from the sheer need behind it or the unpredictable nature of the other man, Geralt reveled in it. Iorveth moved underneath him, trying for any sort of friction. Geralt was feeling generous, but Iorveth would have to wait. Patience certainly wasn’t his forte and soon enough their kisses had Iorveth clawing at Geralt, his lust feeding from every moment of touch and pressure. 

Moving from Iorveth’s lips, Geralt pressed kisses down the elf’s jaw and throat. Languidly, Geralt made his way down Iorveth’s body. He sucked and nibbled every bit of skin he could reach, trying to etch every bit of Iorveth into his memory. Iorveth had the powerful body of an archer and a man who was forced to live rough, every muscle tensing and relaxing underneath Geralt’s touch a testament to that. As Geralt kissed the lower parts of Iorveth’s abdomen, one of his hands gently began massaging Iorveth’s already hard cock. The strangled moan and muttered curse in Elder Speech made Geralt chuckle. His hands then deftly undid the button holding Iorveth’s leggings together, slipping underneath the fabric to reach into the heat. Iorveth’s hips buckled, pushing Geralt’s touch harder against him. 

“Patience may have its rewards,” Geralt commented with a smirk, looking up from the patch of skin he had been tending to. 

Iorveth sneered at him, wriggling as he spoke, “Not if it kills me first.” 

Geralt chuckled and gave Iorveth a long, torturously slow stroke. Watching the reaction he received with lust and amusement in equal measure, Geralt then pushed himself up into a sitting position. Iorveth frowned at him until Geralt gripped each side of the elf’s leggings and indicated for him to lift his hips. Once the leggings were free, Geralt examined each inch of him. Iorveth lay on his back before Geralt, his legs open and hooked over both sides of Geralt’s hips. Running his hands over Iorveth’s knees and gradually down his thighs, Geralt made it to his groin before letting his hands glide up. He could have sworn Iorveth trembled ever so slightly, biting his bottom lip. 

Leaning back down, Geralt tenderly kissed the base of Iorveth’s waiting cock. He moved up to the head with the flat of his tongue, then reached with one of his hand to help him. Iorveth took a sharp breath in when Geralt’s lips wrapped fully around, and his mouth began moving in sync with his hand. Perhaps it was good no one else was around considering the throaty groans and huffs periodically escaping the elf. Any trace of self-control Iorveth displayed before now was lost in the sounds and the bucking of his hips. One of his hands went to Geralt’s hair, the other to Geralt’s free hand. 

“Geralt –ah,” Iorveth was struggling to get the words out. He gave a harsh yank on Geralt’s hair to get his attention, and whimpered when Geralt pulled back from him. “This isn’t what I had in mind,” Iorveth huffed out, breathing heavily and head strained up to watch at him. 

“I could stop,” Geralt offered, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he saw Iorveth wince. 

“Here I was, believing you were the kind of man who finished what he start–” Iorveth’s words drowned out as he moaned, Geralt’s hand working him expertly. Head lolled back and back arched, Iorveth made no other move to complain. 

“You wanted to be warm,” Geralt pressed a kiss to the inside of Iorveth’s thigh. “I’m making you warm.” 

Mouth returning to him, it didn’t take so much longer for Iorveth to begin climbing towards completion. As soon as Geralt felt Iorveth’s hips jerk and quiver in that telltale way, he slowed his pace, doing his best not to chuckle at Iorveth’s swearing. With the hand Iorveth clutched, Geralt laced their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. Even with the slowed pace, Iorveth didn’t last much longer. He tensed, his grip on both Geralt’s hand and hair tightening as he shuddered and lapsed into orgasm, filling the other man’s mouth. 

Geralt held him there for a long moment, only pulling back when Iorveth released his grasp on his hair. He did keep a hold on Iorveth’s hand however, even as he climbed up to lay against Iorveth’s side. Regarding him with a half lidded, sleepy eye, Iorveth ran his hand suggestively down Geralt’s torso. “And you?” He asked calmly. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Geralt insisted, pressing a kiss to Iorveth’s temple. Iorveth gave no resistance. “You should sleep. Now that you’re warm, of course.” 

After a few more moments of searching Geralt’s face, Iorveth nodded. Geralt kissed him again before pulling back. Ignoring the tightness in the front of his breeches, he sat in front of the fireplace and settled down to meditate. He listened to Iorveth settle, wrapping blankest around himself and making himself as comfortable as possible given the circumstance. It didn’t take long before Geralt heard his breathing deepen into that of slumber. For a time, Geralt did meditate. It certainly did remove the issue of tight trousers, as he decided to take his own advice about patience, but he was no less troubled when he came to. He tried to understand Iorveth more, but no matter how he tried, all he could see in his mind’s eye was that guarded, measured stared of Iorveth’s. 

He willed himself from his meditation when he heard soft noise in the cavern. It was just Iorveth waking, Geralt realized a second later. He drew in a deep breath and tried to gage the time of day from what he could see out of the cave’s entrance. It was darker now, Geralt guessed it was about midevening. Iorveth had slept for a few hours and Geralt felt just as rested from his meditation. The rain still poured from the sky, the constant patter of rain a wall of sound. 

Iorveth was watching him, sitting up with blankets over his lap. He stared at Geralt with that same gaze and his forest green eye. It wasn’t soft like a forest though, instead hard like greenstone. Geralt let out a noisy sigh. 

“After Loc Muinne,” Geralt ran a hand down his face, thinking. “I have to continue. Find Yennefer, I guess. Find out what kind of life I led before I woke up with no memory of it. I never planned on getting this caught up in politics, it’s something I usually try to avoid. Witcher neutrality, and all that.” 

Nodding, Iorveth stayed oddly quiet. Not in a brooding way, merely in jaded acceptance. 

“Explain to me one thing, Iorveth, what exactly do you hold against me?” 

“You–” Iorveth breathed out heavily. “You and I. That’s what I hold against you, Gwynbleidd; you and I.” 

“I don’t think I follow.” 

“I’m not sure I do, either.” Iorveth chuckled without humor, then began to lie back down. “Even a witcher can’t sustain himself on meditation alone. We don’t know what we’ll encounter tomorrow, you should rest.” 

For once Geralt was inclined to agree with him. He tossed one of the remaining pieces of wood on the fire, just to be sure they didn’t freeze. Knowing Iorveth didn’t have his leggings on and that the bedding would be dry, having been wrapped in waterproofed fabric, Geralt removed his still damp trousers before joining Iorveth. 

Initially, they lay with their bodies touching but not intimately. As they became more comfortable, Geralt slipped an arm over Iorveth. The warmth and comfort sent the elf to sleep a while before Geralt, though the witcher did follow in time. The embrace of sleep was a welcome break from the intensity of both Iorveth and their situation. 

Geralt woke when something brushed against his cheek. He didn’t startle, didn’t move, didn’t breathe as his mind and body worked to understand what was happening. He could only smell Iorveth and hear the movement of their blankets. Geralt’s eyes were closed but he knew from the rest of his senses Iorveth was sitting up, and had the distinct feeling the elf was watching him. Geralt felt something against his cheek again and knew it as a hand moving the hair from his face. He was genuinely surprised when Iorveth leaned down and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s temple. Evidently he believed Geralt asleep and something compelled Geralt to maintain that façade. Iorveth’s lips lingered on the temple, and for a moment Geralt heard nothing but the other man’s breathing. Iorveth whispered against the skin, quiet and hoarse and wistful, “Damn you. Damn you.” 

Maintaining his pretense of slumber, Geralt listened to Iorveth swallow hard then move away. He removed himself from the bedding and trudged away. Footsteps could be heard up until they began merging with the patter of the rain. Geralt counted each one and knew Iorveth was standing in the cave’s entrance. Iorveth wouldn’t leave in this weather, especially not naked and in the dead of night. 

After waiting for a time, Geralt finally moved. Iorveth must have realized Geralt was getting up, he was by no means oblivious, but never did he glance around or speak. He didn’t move, standing in the dark and staring out into the rain pensively. 

“Do you regret it?” Geralt asked. It would certainly be clear what it was. 

Iorveth looked over his shoulder to Geralt, turning his body partially but not fully. He was completely and entirely unashamed of his nakedness and stood as proudly as he would clad in armor. “No,” Iorveth finally answered, the word neither malicious nor compassionate. There was a nothingness in his voice that made Geralt pause. “I don’t, though I can’t think why. What did you call it before, in regards to Eilhart? Our goals aligned, until they suddenly didn’t. Looks like it’s the same for you and I, going forward.” Iorveth turned to Geralt, and took a small step toward him with every word. “You wanted honesty, and I want to regret it.” Iorveth was standing before him in short time, intense and focused. 

“Honesty,” Geralt echoed, never losing the reassuring sort of firmness in his voice. “I don’t regret it. After Loc Muinne,” Geralt tenderly slipped his fingers under Iorveth’s chin as the other man tried to lower his head with a snort. “After Loc Muinne, we’ll probably part ways, that much is true. But why regret something that gave us good memories? I’ve forgotten most of my life. I’m not going to forget anything more.” 

All harshness and mockery drained out of Iorveth’s face. There was an openness to the way he stared searchingly up at Geralt now, and a quiet comprehension to his voice when he spoke, “You’re not going to forget me.” 

“No,” Geralt kissed him, soft and brief and as close to chaste as they were ever going to get. “I won’t.” 

“Is that a promise, witcher?” Iorveth tried for a sneer which didn’t quite work. He sounded too sincere, too hopeful for that. 

“Damn right it is.” 

They both knew it, too. 

Now it was Iorveth’s turn to kiss him. It began gentle, tender and transformed into something so passionate it had them both captivated. It ended with a familiar bite before Iorveth pulled back, grinning wickedly at Geralt’s reaction. He put his hand to his lip and it came away with blood. Iorveth shrugged, “For old time’s sake.” 

“You–” 

“Come on,” Iorveth moved closer to their bedding suggestively. “We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Right now, we have one last night, together and alone.” 

Geralt wasn’t going to argue with that. Especially as now he was out of the bedding, the chill was beginning to get to him again even with the fire. Iorveth’s skin felt just as cold, and if nothing else, this was going to warm both of them up. 

Exactly how and when they ended up down on the bedding was unclear, lost in the storm of kisses, soft bites and caresses. They weren’t as hurried as past encounters of theirs often were, but neither was it slow or careful. Both of them radiated a hunger and a need which dictated their pace. Amongst the kisses and the hand that made its way down to between Iorveth’s legs, this last night took a different turn. It formed into a kind of intimacy neither had much experience with. They had done slow before, but not like this. This was different. 

Fingers slicked from a nearby vial of oil, Geralt started with one finger. There was familiarity in this as well, especially in the way Iorveth’s pace and breathing increased as Geralt stretched him further. Even with the familiarity, there was still that essence of something that was different. Geralt continued to push those feelings aside, opting to focus on his lover and the increasing need in the moans Iorveth gave. Geralt added another finger, and Iorveth pushed against him with fevered intent. Chuckling, Geralt pressed kisses to the nearest patch of skin on Iorveth’s chest. He vaguely heard Iorveth swear, the words being lost amongst heavy breathing. 

Geralt pushed himself up into a kneel, now able to look down on all of Iorveth at once. He continued to take his time, until he could sense and see Iorveth’s growing need. Pulling his hand away, Geralt readied himself, achingly aware of what he had willingly denied earlier. It was going to make this interesting but Geralt was nothing if not in control of himself. He pushed against Iorveth’s entrance, squeezing his eyes closed before reminding himself that he wanted to be aware of every single one of Iorveth’s reactions. He took his time, trying to savor every moment of heat and pressure. Soon he was to the hilt, and Geralt opted to stay still. He guided Iorveth’s legs up to rest on his shoulders, and he pressed open mouth kisses against the inside of one. He did this all the while watching Iorveth writhe and press against him, almost pleading for movement and friction. Begging was too strong a word to use, but if Geralt waited any longer he could probably say it was indeed begging. 

Geralt rocked his hips once, twice, three times before Iorveth let out a hissing noise of relief and briefly relaxed. He was completely at peace for only a short time before he began pushing against Geralt encouragingly. To begin with it was frantic and needy, before falling into rhythm with the slow and steady but strong pace Geralt set. The rain that was still pounding outside the cave drowned out to silence and for a time, there was nothing but them. Nothing but the heat and pleasure of the other person and the moans caught in the back of their throats. Geralt held Iorveth’s hips, thumbs either digging in or tracing circles. Iorveth occasionally let one of his hands languidly run over his own length, but never went further with that. He reached up with his other hand at one stage, cupping Geralt’s cheek. Geralt turned his head and tenderly bit into the palm, never breaking eye contact. 

“Geralt,” Iorveth’s hoarse voice caught Geralt’s attention. It was the way it was said, however, that took the witcher momentarily off guard. It was wholly and entirely without malice or sarcasm, and as he continued, Iorveth spoke with a rare tenderness underlying the words, even if it wasn’t a particularly compassionate line. “Go onto your back.” 

It took Geralt a second to fully register why. He kissed the inside of Iorveth’s leg again, before pulling out and moving to lie to one side of Iorveth. He was achingly hard but if this was what Iorveth wanted, so be it. Iorveth was on his side and facing Geralt in a barely a second, leaning over to kiss him greedily. Geralt reciprocated gladly, missing the touch as soon as Iorveth moved away to straddle Geralt’s hips. This, they had gone before. Geralt was no less captivated than the first time; he was likely more so, if that was possible. There was something intoxicating about the sureness with which Iorveth moved, the power behind that muscular frame and the heavy lust driving it all. Lowering himself onto Geralt, Iorveth held his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. Once Geralt was fully inside, there was a brief pause as the two just breathed, the tension and desire palpable in the air around them. 

Both hands firmly planted on Geralt’s chest, Iorveth began to rock his hips. Deliberately, carefully, he ground himself against Geralt. Every time he increased speed, he slowed again, seemingly reminded repeatedly what this last night meant. Geralt’s hands traveled from Iorveth’s thighs up to his hips multiple times, lingering over the hips specifically to guide and feel their movement. The heat coiling in Geralt’s lower body increased tenfold as Iorveth straightened his back, still grinding against Geralt. Iorveth’s head rolled back, exposing the long column of his neck and the intricate tattoo to one side that sprawled down his shoulder. Iorveth shuddered for a moment, the pace of his movement interrupted by the need to gather himself. Chest heaving and breathing loud and deep, Iorveth let his head roll back forward. He reached down as he did so, taking the hands on his hips and moving them away. Geralt couldn’t resist a chuckle as Iorveth held their hands out between them, their fingers entwining. They clung onto each other as Iorveth then continued to move, determined to let this time they were capturing together last. Iorveth used Geralt’s hands now to lean against, and tightened his grip painfully. Geralt never let go and never complained, returning the action as he fought to keep this moment lasting forever. His entire body pulsed with the hot need for release, his own breathing ragged now. Iorveth could see this and went only slower, barely managing to stay composed himself. 

As Geralt’s hips buckled, his vision whitening at the edges, Iorveth pushed down to meet him and drive him over the edge. Still holding the other’s hands in an impossibly tight grip, Geralt spent himself into Iorveth with a choked groan. He heard Iorveth’s noise of amused satisfaction, though Geralt was completely unable to think on it as he lost himself to heat and bliss. 

At the end, Geralt found Iorveth had gone still. At Geralt’s indication, Iorveth pulled himself off the other man, still hard and eager. Their hands finally came apart, and Geralt brought Iorveth down for a passionate kiss. At the same time Geralt slid a hand between them and began stroking. Iorveth moaned into his mouth and moved away only slightly, to fall back against Geralt. With Iorveth’s forehead against Geralt’s cheek and the elf’s needy sounds in his ear, Geralt made short work of him. It didn’t take long, Iorveth thrusting as much as he could in that position before reaching his own loud climax. Geralt could feel the wet heat spill onto his stomach. 

For a time, they stayed like that. Geralt pulled his hand away and kissed Iorveth’s temple, his lips lingering there as Iorveth’s breathing returned to a more normal pace. Eventually Iorveth pulled up slightly, his body still covering Geralt’s, and he just looked at Geralt with the same openness as before. “I…” Iorveth began, before sighing deeply. “I’m not good with words, Geralt.” 

Geralt’s hands reached up to cup his face, and Iorveth’s hands held them possessively to his cheeks. “Come what may tomorrow,” Geralt promised him tenderly. “And the day after, and then the day after that. Right now, it’s just us.” Geralt pulled Iorveth down to kiss his forehead, and then whisper against it. He could have sworn Iorveth was shaking but Geralt said what needed to be said. “You don’t have to be good with words. I understand. I always have.” 

That was the honest truth, and it was also the truth that Geralt was not going to forget him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has waited so patiently for the third and final part to my (smutty and angsty) contribution to this pairing!
> 
> FYI the line "don't lose hope" is actually from the game, Iorveth says it to Geralt in the in-game equivalent of the flashback. I thought it was so appropriate that I had to use it haha.


End file.
